Chapter 39

The cavalry squadron escorted the Ambassador back to the Embassy after the ceremony was finished and the spectators given time to disperse and clear the streets again. Foster was called forward to talk to Knight and Rogers on the way. The captain grinned at his subordinate. “Congratulations, Sergeant. Though I'm not quite sure how I'm going to write this up for your evals.”

Knight chuckled. “I'm sure you'll figure something out, Captain. Sergeant, you'll be coming with me to this evening's reception, of course. His Highness requested you specifically as part of my entourage.”

Foster sighed. “I'm not exactly surprised, sir. I'm still not sure why he was so impressed. It wasn't anything special - any of us could have done it.”

Rogers shook his head. “Not everyone could have gotten that much loyalty so quickly from a group of foreign nationals. Don't sell yourself short.”

“Still say it was a matter of just being in the right place to be noticed, sir.” He turned back to the Ambassador. “May I request a favor? I'm pretty sure that Rajiya would appreciate this more than--”

Knight shook his head. “Sorry, Sergeant. The invitation also specifically stated that an escort would be provided for you.”

The fennec's ears flattened. “Oh, lovely. Spoil the one thing that would have made the evening interesting, why don't they.”

Rogers frowned. “You'll go, and at least act like you're enjoying yourself, Sergeant. Do I have to make that an order?”

Rick raised one ear. “I think you just did, sir.”

“Ah. Good point, Sergeant. Carry on.”

Foster saluted and wheeled his horse back to his place in the formation.

* * * *

Rajiya was disappointed that the Sergeant only glanced at her, until one of the other servants pointed out that he wasn't allowed to do anything else. “They're in formation, and they can't break it to go waving to anyone, no matter how important. Now, let's see what kind of reward he's getting. The Prince hasn't told anyone as far as I know, except maybe the American.”

She was stunned by what Haroun did. Afterwards, she went back to the kitchens with her closest confidante among the staff, frantic with worry. “Maryam, what am I going to -do-? He is almost nobility now. He'll have rich merchants throwing their daughters at him, possibly even nobles doing so since he is favored by the Prince. How am I going to compete?”

The older woman smiled at her. “Rajiya, think. You know him. You've told me what he's said about his people, and what he's done. Do you really think he'll abandon you now because some conniving moneylender arranges a pretty brush to wave under his nose?” She chuckled. “Besides, you've got a prettier one than most, so I wouldn't worry about that anyway.”

The vixen blushed. “Maryam!”

Maryam nodded. “True, though. Now, let's get busy. We've got to help put together the feast for tonight. If your young knight knows you can cook fit for the Prince, he won't be eager to let you go no matter how much gold some merchant dangles in front of him, I--” She paused as one of the pages stopped them.

The boy looked at the fennec. “Rajiya bint-Hakim?”

She nodded. “That is me, yes.”

“The First Consort requests your presence at your earliest convenience. I have already informed the head cook that you will be unavailable for the rest of the day.”

“Mistress Noor wants to see me?”

“As soon as possible.”

Maryam smiled. “Can't keep Her Ladyship waiting, Rajiya. Go. We'll manage without you.”

* * * *

USCGC Tahoma, Gulf of Maine, off Criehaven Island

<In spite of all the craziness, it does seem that some things never change. Paperwork, for one.> Commander Carmichael signed yet another status report and turned it back over to the duty yeoman, then headed up to the cutter's bridge. “Anything to report?”

The officer of the deck saluted. “Petty Officer Harcourt is getting a visual on an anomalous contact, sir, as per standing orders. It's probably just another tourist who forgot to turn his radio and transponder on, but...”

“But these days it could as easily be a sea monster or something. Carry on, Lieutenant.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

The radio crackled into life a minute later. “Tahoma, Seahawk-One. Contact Sierra-4 is not a lost tourist or a fish-poacher. It appears to be a Viking dragon-boat.”

Carmichael stiffened. “I have the conn.”

Lieutenant Chan stepped away from the center of the bridge as Carmichael took her place. “Captain has the conn, aye.”

“Seahawk-One, Tahoma-Actual. Say again.”

“Tahoma-Actual, Seahawk-One. Repeat, the contact designated Sierra-4 appears to be a Viking-era longboat. There is a dragon figurehead, it is under sail rather than oars. Single crewman on deck.”

“Are you close enough to see details on the crew?”

“Negative, skipper. Range is about five thousand yards currently. Shall I approach?”

“Seahawk-One, Tahoma-Actual. Affirmative. Approach cautiously for better visuals, but maintain two thousand yards minimum.”

“Tahoma-Actual, Seahawk-One. Acknowledge cautious approach to two thousand. Stand by.”

The bright spot marking Harcourt's position veered toward the faint blip of Sierra-4 on the radar plot. Chan was watching through the bridge windows using the field glasses kept there for the officer of the deck. “He's circling, sir. Drifting toward the contact while staying covert.”

Carmichael smiled. “Useful changeling to have around, Lieutenant. We've caught a -lot- more poachers and drugrunners with our own air support. And an osprey is a lot more stealthy than a helicopter.”

The radio crackled again a few minutes later. “Tahoma, Seahawk-One. Crewman on deck is a Caucasian male, red hair and beard, wearing period Viking costume and carrying medieval weapons. The boat is apparently sailing itself – I have seen sail and rudder adjustments occur without the man on deck moving. Currently three thousand yards. Should I continue to approach?”

“Seahawk-One, Tahoma-Actual. Negative on approach. Withdraw to five thousand yards minimum, maintain visual contact.”

“Tahoma-Actual, Seahawk-One. Acknowledge withdrawal to minimum five kay, maintain visual surveillance.”

“Take over, Lieutenant. Let me know if there's any change. I'll be in the radio room.”

“OOD has the conn, aye.”

* * * *

“Director?”

Lowe looked up from her desk as her secretary stepped into the office. “What now?”

“Copy of Flash traffic from a Coast Guard cutter, Doc. A Viking longboat in the Gulf of Maine, heading toward Cape Cod. Description of the sole occupant sounds an awful lot like our missing Immortal.”

Lowe snatched the message out of the ferret's hand and read it through. “Sure does, all right. Get the satellite people to backtrack any passes in the area, see if they can figure out where he came from. I'll call the President.”

* * * *

The First Consort's quarters were opulent, and carried the subtle scent of magical working to the vixen's sensitive nose. There were three servants already present when she arrived; two human women - one dark-skinned with the curled hair of the Nubians, the other fair and blonde and as skinny as the Nubian was plump – and a green-eyed caracal. Rajiya curtsied deeply to the Consort. “What do you wish, My Lady?”

“The first thing I wish is for you to stand up straight, my dear. And then get you bathed, most likely.” The black-haired woman smiled at the startled serving girl. "We don't have much time."

Rajiya gave a startled yip and looked up in confusion. “I – what?”

The caracal smiled. “We've only got until dusk to get you ready, Rajiya. You didn't think his Highness was going to let your Sergeant get turned into a prize to be won by some noble's daughter with more ambition than talent, did you?”

The blonde took her hand and led her off toward the Consort's private bathing chamber. “Hurry up! We've got to get you cleaned up, and then dried off so that we can get you fitted.”

“But -” Rajiya found herself undressed and in the water before she could recover from the shock well enough to protest, and belatedly blushed while trying to cover herself.

The blonde laughed. “There's nobody here but us women, and you're probably not going to be getting dressed again until your new clothes are done, so you might as well get used to it. Now hurry up and wash while I shampoo your hair. Sana and Yasmin can work wonders, but even they will need some time to do it.”

* * * *

Ambassador Knight, Captain Rogers, Tech Sergeant Barnett, and Sergeant Foster shared a carriage later that night, while the duty guards rode as their escort. Barnett ran a hand over the elegant woodwork. “Where'd they even find this?”

Rogers chuckled. “Apparently it was still in storage, for formal occasions. The last time it was actually used was during the Harding administration, so they had it shipped here to handle the duty of a formal limousine. According to the paperwork, it is an enclosed landau carriage, four-in-hand. Which presumably means something to antique buffs.”

Foster nodded. “It's pretty enough, sir, but can it stop an attack?”

Barnett kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead as they left the embassy compound. “That's why I'm here, Sergeant. I've been learning some of the spells you saw used in that fight in the Cloth Market. The carriage isn't much use for defense at this point on its own, but I've got it buffed up with protective spells.”

The fennec nodded again. “That does make me feel better about things, Tech Sergeant.”

Knight shook his head. “You're not on duty tonight, Sergeant. Just relax and enjoy yourself.”

“I'll try, sir.”

* * * *

The Palace shone in the gathering dusk, moonlight supplemented by torches and mage-fire lights set on the battlements. Fresh stonework glimmered in spots where battle damage had been recently repaired and firing steps added to the ancient walls. The carriage turned, entering the inner courtyard and wheeling around to the entrance, where one of the Marine outriders dismounted and opened the carriage door for them. “Well, this is it,” said Knight. “Remember, keep your ears open, and don't say anything even vaguely official-sounding to anyone. If someone asks for a statement, refer them to me, please.” They climbed the staircase to the palace entrance, where they were met by a pair of servants.

“Welcome, Ambassador, Sir Richard. And your companions are...?”

Knight introduced them. “Captain Anthony Rogers, USMC, my senior military officer at the moment. And Specialist Elizabeth Barnett, USAF, my senior mage.”

The senior servant nodded. “Thank you for coming. If you will follow me, please?” He led them through the entrance hall, and then down a short side corridor. “Sir Richard, my Prince has requested that you enter the reception with your chosen companion for the evening. Ambassador, I hope you will not object to this?”

Knight smiled. “I have discussed this with his Highness. My government has no objections.”

The man knocked on the door. “My Lady, they are here.”

“Enter.”

He opened the door, bowed, and waved them into the room beyond. “Her Excellency the First Consort, Lady Noor, Protector of Maidens, Daughter of the--” He ground to a halt as she interrupted him.

“Save it for later, Dawesh. This is supposed to be informal and quick. They'll hear all the titles at the banquet, no need to bore them twice.” Although her accent was indistinguishable from the local patois, Noor was quite obviously not a local. Her skin was the bronze of central Asia, with the broad nose and epicanthic folds of the steppes. Her hair was black, done in a single braid that reached below her waist, but with odd highlights of red and gold. Her eyes were merry as she interrupted the butler and shifted to accented English. “Welcome to Ba-Yabel.”

Knight bowed deeply and the others followed suit after a moment's surprise. “I must confess to some surprise, Lady Noor. I had no idea that you spoke our language.”

She shrugged. “Not well yet. English is... unusual, I think is word? But is common language now, and I have more time to learn properly than Haroun. Depend only on spells, is weakness. But... do business first, yes?” She turned to the fennec, and smiled. “Sir Richard, ears betray you. You wish to chose your own consort for party, not happy?”

Foster's ears flattened a bit. “I... wanted to bring a friend, milady.”

“So. But is politics, yes? Sudden favorites in court, you Americans. If you come alone, you have daughters and sisters compete for you, yes? Haroun not take chance you do this, or that you bring someone these... what is word...?”

“Opportunists, Lady Noor?” offered Knight.

“Too polite, but yes. Someone these people ignore against your wish, Sir Richard, and insult your friend.” She clapped her hands twice. “So Haroun ask me to assist.”

Foster forced his ears back to a more neutral position. “I appreciate your concern, my lady, but I would still have... preferred...”

“Rick...?”

“Rajiya...?” He stared for a timeless moment. The vixen was dressed in a shimmering red gown that matched the red trim of his own dress uniform, accented in blue gemstones. Her hair was arranged flawlessly around her ears, and bound with a rope of pearls with a diamond pendant on her forehead. And then they were caught up in an embrace, babbling explanations at each other. “I wanted to ask... afraid you wouldn't want me after... thought they were going to pair me up with some... nothing that looked proper for court... of -course- I wanted you... even though you're important now...?”

Noor shifted back to Arabic. “Children! Time for that later. Yasmin! Sana!” The black woman and the caracal-femme appeared and fussed over the pair briefly, fixing all the bits and pieces on both outfits that had been disarranged. “I trust this choice is to your liking, Sir Richard? She now bears the sign of -my- approval, and while there may still be resentment among the ambitious, none will dare insult her – or you for choosing her.”

He bowed to her again. “Thank you, Lady Noor. For both of us.”

“So go. Enjoy the banquet.” She gave them a motherly smile and turned back to Knight. “Ambassador? I hope we will have a chance to talk again this evening. For now, I'm afraid I have to finish my own preparations.”

“I shall look forward to it, Lady Noor.”